


Searching for a sweet surrender

by MsPeppernose



Series: I set these fires just for you [5]
Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, M/M, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPeppernose/pseuds/MsPeppernose
Summary: Pete picks Frank up from the tattoo shop where he works and gets jealous over one of Frank's clients.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TearCatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/gifts).



> Title is from I'm a mess by FIATP
> 
> Thank you to TearCatcher for listening to me waffle on about these boys and looking this fic over for me (and thanks for joining this stupid ship with me).
> 
> This is for my free space square in bandom bingo (because I haven't managed to finish any of the other bandom bingo fics I've started)

Pete’s running a few minutes late, but when he shows up at the tattoo shop to pick Frank up, Frank’s just finishing up with with his final client of the day.

There’s a little reception with a reception desk, a sofa and a couple of chairs. Every inch of the walls are covered in local band posters and photographs of work done by Frank and the other resident artists.

There’s several little rooms off the reception, but only one has the blinds open; Frank’s studio. He’s got a look of intense concentration on his face as he works on a tattoo on a girl’s shoulder. She’s in her mid twenties, blonde, pretty, and she’s in a halter neck top so that Frank has access to her shoulder easily.

Pete thinks nothing of it - he’s picked Frank up from work a dozen times before and Frank’s usually finishing up something. But as Pete watches Frank work, and as Frank and the girl converse about something, she says something that makes Frank smile that big, beaming smile that Pete loves so much.

For whatever reason that Pete can’t decipher, he gets a pang of jealousy as he watches Frank. The smile remains of Frank’s lips as he says something back. The girl laughs, of course, all throaty and feminine - Pete assumes, he can’t actually hear her - and Pete gets another little twinge.

He watches them for several more minutes, trying not to. It’s a morbid fascination he can’t turn away from, like watching the twisted metal of a car crash. He’s watching his man giggle and flirt and he’s really not happy about it.

By the time Frank has finished up the tattoo and wrapped it in saran wrap, Pete is quietly freaking out as he watches Frank come out to the reception, the girl trailing closely behind him.

“So, you said you’re familiar with aftercare, but take one of these anyway,” Frank says and hands her a little pamphlet with do’s and don’ts of looking after a tattoo. “If you’ve any problem’s my number is on the back; call me. And don’t forget to call back in so I can see it when it’s healed.”

“Of course,” she gushes. She’s thrilled, and especially when Frank throws her one of his trademark smiles, one of those really devastating ones.

Then she’s gone, and Frank has a similar smile for Pete, but Pete’s not feeling it.

“Hi,” Frank purrs. “Sorry I’m running late. I didn’t leave enough time for the level of detail she wanted. Did you see what she got? I’m really happy with it.”

Frank then begins his nightly routine, the one he does whenever he closes the store. Mostly it’s just making sure things are switched off, locking up and cleaning away the debris from his last tattoo. And Frank sure likes things to be clean, so he takes his time with this task.

“It was some sort of flower?” Pete asks, though he doesn’t really care.

“An orchid. In watercolour design. Hard to get right. But I think I nailed it.”

“Uh huh.”

Frank gives him a quizzical look. “You’re not into orchids?”

“Not _that_ one,” Pete says. He’s feeling rather sullen, though watching your boyfriend flirt with a hot, young thing can do that.

“What’s up with you, grumpy? You were in a good mood earlier, all happy when you were texting. Did something happen?”

“No.”

Frank drops what he’s doing, which is tidying up his station where he was just working. He tosses a pair of black latex gloves in the trash and comes right over to Pete. With his hands on Pete’s hips and a mischievous grin, he says “Aw, c’mon, baby. Where’s that smile!?”

He’s teasing, and Pete knows it because Frank never calls him _baby_ unless he’s being playful. Pete should take the bait and get over himself, but instead he decides not to.

“My smile went out the door with that girl you were flirting with.”

Frank straight up laughs in his face.

“Dude, are you laughing at me?” And Pete tries not to feel hurt, because this is not the reaction he was expecting.

“Are you serious?” Frank asks, and when he’s met with silence from Pete, he says, “Yeah, I’m laughing at you acting all jealous over a client. I tattooed her. That’s all. What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?” Pete repeats. “What about all those little smiles I saw you give her?” 

Frank shrugs. “She said something funny.”

“What did she say?”

“You kinda had to be there. We were talking for a while about it.”

Pete rolls his eyes getting annoyed again.

“Pete, c’mon are you really pissed off over this? I laugh with my clients all the time.”

By now Frank’s hands have moved from Pete’s hips to hold both of Pete’s hands in his. The way Frank holds him is comforting, but Pete’s still pissed off and feeling very stubborn.

“You flirt with them too?”

It’s Frank who rolls his eyes this time. He’s losing his patience with Pete and Pete knows it. Frank can be very patient with Pete, but Pete knows that in general Frank does have a short fuse.

“No, Pete. I don’t. I talk about tattoos with my clients. Movies. Food. Even you, sometimes. I don’t perve on them. I don’t chat them up. I don’t try to cop a feel.”

“But do you flirt with them?”

Frank goes back to locking up the shop, flinging things into the trash, clearing away the rest of his station. He closes the blinds all the way, the way they’re closed every night.

“I smile with them. I laugh if something’s funny. I try to be polite because good customer service goes a long way in this business. Talent and skill are fine but there’s plenty of decent artists around and manners are free, you know.”

“That wasn’t just being polite!” Pete says. “You gave her your number!”

“I gave her the store number!”

“You told her to call you.” Though Pete knows that’s a very thin argument.

“So that I can photograph her healed tattoo.”

Frank takes a big breath like he’s trying to steady himself, and Pete wondering again if he should just let this whole thing go. He doesn’t, obviously; he’s still pouting.

“Tell me, Pete; do you ever flirt? Maybe with the hot barista that gives you extra cream on your hot chocolate? Or maybe with the cute girl who lives downstairs from you? The one you said once called over to borrow candles during a blackout - I bet you’ve totally flirted with her. What about that guy with the amazing thighs you told me about from the gym. Bet you’d be happy if he came over to spot you, yeah? You’d do a little harmless flirting with him?”

“No,” Pete lies.

Frank laughs again. “I know you do. You’re such a fucking flirt. It’s like breathing to you.”

“I don’t.”

“Look, whatever, man. I wasn’t even flirting.”

Frank sounds pissed off now. Pete just wants to go home, to never have seen Frank flirting; it feels like a pandora’s box of worry. Deep down he knows he’s being an idiot and that Frank loves him. He knows Frank is loyal as a Labrador and would never truly stray, but still, watching him flirt like that was difficult to swallow.

“Why won’t you just admit it?” Pete says thought almost-gritted teeth.

“Why do you want me to admit it? Why are you doing this?”

Pete knows he’s doing it because he’s an insecure idiot who forgets that Frank adores him. He needs reminding sometimes, just not usually by picking a fight.

“Just fucking admit it, Frankie,” Pete spits.

Frank’s closing the remaining blind and instead of lowering the blind slowly, he lets go of it so that it crashes down too fast. He then turns on his heel and crosses the room so that he’s right up close to Pete so that they’re almost nose to nose.

“Look, Pete. I fucking flirted, alright? Is that what you wanted me to say? I was flirting. I didn’t think it was a big deal because I don’t wanna fuck her. I want to fuck you.”

The words hang in the air between them, and Frank’s so close Pete can feel his breath, can see the tiny pores on his nose and cheeks. Pete feels so wound up tight - not angry or jealous anymore, just wound up like he could snap at any second. Frank’s words echo around his head. _I want to fuck you_ , and Pete really wants that too.

Frank seems to pick up on it, because his eyes soften and change from pissed off to something else, his pupils dilating. 

“I want to fuck you,” Frank says again, but his tone is completely different this time. There’s a soft urgency to it as his gaze drops to Pete’s mouth, and then his hands find Pete’s hips and they’re kissing. Frank kisses like he’s still fucking mad at Pete, quick hot kisses, open mouth against Pete’s lips. He pries Pete’s mouth open with his tongue and kisses again and again. 

Frank takes a step forward and pushes Pete back against the edge of the table so that Pete’s pinned there. The press of Frank’s hips again his is delicious, and it’s accompanied by Frank’s clever fingers slipping up inside Pete’s shirt.

Pete wants to touch Frank, too. It’s stupid, because though he went off the rails and accused Frank of flirting with that girl, he knows Frank is his, and he damn sure belongs to Frank too. So he touches Frank, his bare forearms, his hair, his jaw. 

The urgency in Frank’s kisses is nothing new, and it’s something that gets Pete so hot for him. While they often fuck long and slow, there’s nothing like the intensity that Frank has; he’s like a tiny whirlwind, full of fierce energy that doesn’t doesn’t always get burnt off during they day. It means he fucks like a beast, and Pete is so, so here for that. 

Frank runs his hands up Peete’s sides and carries on upwards, taking Pete’s shirt with him this time. Pete raises his arms over his head and lets Frank take it off. Frank’s hands are all over him now, quick and rough and Pete wants more of Frank’s skin, too. He tugs at Frank’s flannel until Frank sheds it, then his t-shirt, and then Pete’s gets his hands of Frank’s hips. 

Pete knows Frank’s ink by heart now, so he knows when he’s dragging his knuckles over Frank’s belly that it’s the swallows he’s touching, or the exact point in the small of his back where the pistols cross. With his fingertips he feels the lines of the script as well as the soft hair that disappears down, down.

Pete’s so turned on. They’ve never really done making out in Frank’s studio - okay, they’ve maybe done _a little_ making out here, but not like this - and this is even fucking better, because making out shirtless means they’re probably leading somewhere, especially when Frank moves from kissing Pete’s mouth, to kissing his jaw.

“You’re such a little shit, Pete. You know I want you. But you push like you need me to say it.” Frank murmurs into Pete’s neck. He nips at the skin just at the curve of Pete’s shoulder and Pete yelps as Frank’s teeth sink in.

“I know. I know.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole sometimes. But you’re mine.”

“I am. And you’re mine,” Pete breathes. “Got jealous cos I can’t believe you’d date a dickhead like me. I can never believe my luck.”

“Luck has nothin’ to do with it,” Frank rasps. “Drop your pants and turn around.”

Pete groans. Frank’s so good to him. He takes what he wants and gives Pete exactly what he needs and Pete loves him for it. 

Pete does as he’s told. He unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the ground. Frank hems him in again, pressing his chest to Pete’s back. His skin feels gloriously hot, and Pete tingles everywhere they touch. Frank’s arm snakes around his waist from behind, and then his grip tightens. He presses forward against Pete, his mouth to Pete’s ear and Pete tries and fails to suppress a full body shiver. 

Frank leaves Pete there, hands braced on the table where Frank tattoos his clients, and he goes to fetch something. Pete’s skin feels cold, prickling into goosebumps all over his back where Frank had been pressed against him, and it takes far longer than Pete would like for Frank to return to his previous position. 

His hand feels hot like a brand on Pete’s skin when his palm touches Pete’s shoulder. He kisses the back of Pete’s neck, nuzzles into the fine hairs on the nape and Pete moans. Pete feels the cool air on his backside as Frank pulls down his underwear exposing his ass. 

The fact that Frank is behind him means that he’s got all of the control and Pete has none, and Pete’s fine with that, but he wants to touch Frank so badly now. Moreso when Frank’s hands leave him again to fiddle with the little packet that he retrieved. Pete’s not sure what it is, but when he feels a fingertip pushing against his hole, he hums with pleasure as Frank’s finger slips easily inside. 

The little packet, Pete assumes, is some sort of tattoo ointment - either that or Frank has sachets of lube stashed in his studio for a day like today - but it feels rich and thick like vaseline and it lends a delicious slide for Frank’s finger. Frank knows exactly how to open Pete up quickly and efficiently, but also in a way that has Pete gasping. 

By the time that Frank’s sliding a second finger in along with the first, Pete’s moaning non stop and he’s gripping the edge of the table hard. 

They don’t have a condom and they both know it. Pete never feels the need to carry one anymore seeing as the fuck most often at home, in a bed, with supplies. More often than not they do use protection, but Pete gets a serious thrill at the thought of barebacking today, the thought of having Frank inside him with no barrier, nothing at all between them.

Pete whines when Frank slips his fingers out.He feels empty and aching, but it’s bittersweet because he knows he’s more than ready to take Frank now.

Pete feels the gentle pressure of Frank’s palm right between his shoulder blades as he pushes Pete forward so that he’s bent over the table. Then, after a second or two filled only with the sounds of Frank stroking himself to full hardness, Frank slides inside. 

He pushes in slowly, but he sinks in deep enough for Pete to really feel it. He’s stretched and full and aching for more. Frank grinds his hips into Pete in a slow circle, really pushing hard against Pete’s ass. He smoothes his hand down Pete’s back from shoulder to lower back, the other hand gripping into Pete’s hip, anchoring them together.

Frank moves again and again, slowing increasing his speed. The urgency from before has shifted into something bigger and more consuming. Pete submits to the feeling of Frank all over and tries to concentrate on the overwhelming feeling of Frank fucking into him so perfectly. Pete whines and Frank just squeezes his hip tighter. 

Pete knows that Frank is often quite vocal when they fuck. Unlike Pete who talks dirty and isn’t shy with descriptive language when they’re together, Frank’s is usually limited to filthy moans and choked off swearing. Today’s no different with a slew of _Fuck, oh fuck, oh motherfucker, God_ tumbling from his mouth and right into Pete’s ear in hoarse whispers. It sends shivers down Pete’s spine and Pete loves every second of it, every syllable.

Pete’s pressed into the table, his forehead against the padded cover. It’s not exactly a mattress - where Pete usually rests his forehead while Frank relentless fucks him - but it’s comfy enough, and Pete’s not gonna lie, he’s wondered what it would be like to get fucked or blown on Frank’s table before. 

It feels so good. The heat builds in Pete’s abdomen and every muscle feels tight and stretched to the point that he’s almost shaking. When he gets his hand on his dick he gives the base a squeeze for a second, just to prolong the pleasure, to keep him far enough away from the edge. He wants to enjoy the feeling of Frank pulsing inside him for as long as he can.

But then he moves his hand in light, quick strokes in time with Frank’s thrusts and it feels glorious. Pete thinks briefly about that girl, the one that he was jealous of. He imagines her walking back in to collect a sweater she may have forgotten. A wicked thrill runs through him as he images what she would see; Pete bent over sweating and panting, and Frank lost in pleasure as he fucks Pete relentlessly. The thought gets Pete so close he can taste it.

As Frank nears his climax his hand moves from Pete’s waist to the table. He grips it tight, grasping it until his fingers turn white from the pressure. Pete just groans because Frank’s hands are do goddamn hot it’s unfair.

Pete feels the tension in his body; it’s still there from before, all of it coiled up and waiting, ready to explode.

Frank’s grip tightens on his hips again and Pete knows Frank’s nearly there too. Pete clenches down around Frank’s cock and Frank cries out. It only takes four, five, six more thrusts before Pete’s coming, and then Frank follows him over the edge.

Pete’s bent right over the table, barely able to move and feeling entirely fucked out. He’s going to be aching tomorrow, not that he cares.

Frank’s still plastered to his back, a heavy weight now, and almost unmoving as he clings to Pete with both arms.

“You’re such an idiot, Pete,” Frank murmurs fondly. “So silly. I would never want to cheat on you or leave you for a client. Why would I want some girl with an amazing watercolour orchid tattoo when I could have you and your fucking batheart monstrosity,” he says as he runs his hand blindly over Pete’s stomach. Pete can feel Frank’s forehead pressed to his back and he holds Frank’s arms in place around his middle, like a weird backwards hug.

“I know,” Pete whispers. He’s vaguely ashamed of how he acted, and he would probably be more ashamed if he wasn’t so orgams high. He is sorry though, because being an asshole and accusing Frank or flirting - even if he was - was bad form, so he says as much. 

Frank unpeels himself from Pete’s back and spins Pete around so that they’re face to face and so that Pete can see the deep brown or Frank’s eyes. 

“I get that you’re sorry, Pete. I forgive you. But, you know, cut me some slack in future. I only want you, just in case you missed that by the way I was fucking you.”

Pete grins and kisses him, wet and soft and perfect.

“I get it. Won’t happen again. I trust you.” And Pete does.

Frank detangles himself from Pete and begins to fix up his clothes - he looks a picture with his jeans and boxers half way down his thighs. There’s no condom to toss in the trash but there’s still clean-up, and frank shuffles to the bench with his pants still around his thighs. Pete’s heart seizes up with how stupidly adorable Frank looks. He watches Frank give himself a quick wipe over with some tissue before he gives Pete a grin - an even better one than the one he gave that girl - and getting himself dressed.

“Dude,” Frank says, staring at the table they just fucked on. “You jizzed on the table I tattoo people on. This shit is never gonna be clean.”

And it’s true, Pete really did come all over Frank’s table. He’ll never look at it the same way - he’ll forever know it as yet another surface that Frank fucked his brains out on.

“Not even with those disinfectant wipes?” Pete considers as he picks his shirt up off the floor. He’s used tissues to get himself _sort of_ clean, but he knows that he’ll be feeling it for the rest of the day until they get back to his place and he can drag Frank into the shower with him.

“Maybe with a hundred of them.”

“Sorry,” Pete says, but he’s really, really not.

“Don’t be,” Frank says. He finishes pulling his shirt on and wraps an arm around Pete’s waist. “I’m kidding, and it’s totally worth it anyway. I’ll bleach it. I’ll double wrap it tomorrow to protect my first client from your disgusting, amazing bodily fluids.”

When they’re both fixed up enough to leave the shop, Pete says, “Wanna get hot chocolate on the way back to mine?”

“In that little place near your house? Sure.”

They do the best vegan hot chocolate and Frank has never declined an invitation there.

Pete’s feeling fucked out and playful, and he hopes that Frank’s feeling the same. With a very fake-innocent grin he says, “So you think if I flirt with the guy there I’ll get extra cream on mine?”

Frank just shakes his head. “You’re damn lucky I love you, Wentz,” he says with a smirk.”

Pete pulls him in for a kiss and murmurs, “Yeah, I know.”


End file.
